An Old Bosmer, A New Adventure
by IAmDeathIncarnate
Summary: Aendril is a seven hundred year old Bosmer with a lust for adventure. He is also a Bosmeri Soldier and a Dark Brother. Having fought alongside many heroes in his day, he is resting, and helping to rebuild the Brotherhood in the last sanctuary in Tamriel, the Falkreath Sanctuary in Skyrim. Emotions he thought long dead stir again in his newest harrowing adventure as he gains renown.
1. Chapter 1

Aendril stood atop the roof of a home in Helgen, the city where his next mark was located. He stood with Imperial Bowmen, almost exclusively of the various races of Men, and fortunately, none questioned his appearance. He smiled, knowing the strings he'd pulled had been effective. One of the Thalmor agents in attendance to the execution had worked with him during the Great War, and had implanted him with the rest of the bowmen posted there. He felt uncomfortable in the studded leather armor of the Legion, much preferring his own Shrouded armor. Forced to forego his normal gear for this mission, he did, however, retain one ritual; his face was painted to show the visage of a stark white skull, the black of his eyes furthering the effect. He watched as the carts full of prisoners rolled into town. He noticed one prisoner in particular that caused a grin, Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who was single handedly, and unknowingly, handing Skyrim to the Dominion.

_ So the Empire finally got him, eh?_ He thought to himself, wondering who had made the contract, as they'd called for the executions to be finished before Aendril's arrow was to pierce his heart. He stood waiting patiently as the condemned were brought forth, one by one. A slip of a man, Lokir he'd thought he'd heard, attempted to run off, but was quickly put down by the shout of the Legate and a hail of arrows. Aendril had seen enough mass beheadings to zone out of this one, he knew it was to be a long, uninteresting ceremony, and the standard Stormcloak shouting of ancestors and honor ensued. He heard it then, like an angry, reptillian cat. A_massive,_ angry, reptillian cat. It came again, as a new prisoner was headed up to the block, a massive, shaggy Nord with blonde hair, one of only three prisoners who didn't wear a Stormcloak uniform. As the prisoner was forced to his knees and bent over the block, as shadow blacked out the sun, and the largest creature Aendril had ever seen landed on the tower that the block had been placed in front of. He readied his bow, as the rest around him did, seeing the executioner fall from his feet. The massive creature seemed to speak before fire erupted from hit's gaping maw to engulf the row of houses to his left, which were directly across from it. Deeming the execution over, he released his arrow fashioned from Daedric steel, a brutal, magical combination of ebony and the essence of a Daedra, pulled from one's heart. The arrow sailed through the air unnoticed, and ripped through the chainmail the executioner wore, burying itself fletching deep into the man's chest, piercing his heart, and extending out of his back. Deciding fighting the monster would just get him killed, he slipped off the roof and into out the rear gate of the city before the chaos enveloped everything. Walking down the path out of the mountains, he headeed toward his camp, finding it exactly as he'd left it, his wards all still intact. He removed the Imperial armor and placed it in his pack, removing his Shrouded gear, feeling more comfortable in it than in anything else. He strapped his swordbelt on, feeling almost gleeful as he rested his hands on the pommels of his long, curved knives, before retrieving and restringing his own bow, a gorgeous piese of craftsmanship from his home in Valenwood, made of wood imported from Elsweyr. He attached his quiver at his hip to his swordbelt. He lifted his hood, leaving his mask down as he breathed in the wonderful air of the thick, if melancholic, Falkreath wood. He smiled at a clean kill and began walking southwest, back to the Sanctuary, whistling an ironically tuned _Age of Oppression_ as he went.

The sun had begun to fall as he reached the sanctuary door, entering and feeling the warmth of his family immediately, though the chamber was actually often chill and damp.

"Back so soon, Brother?" Veezara asked as he entered the main chamber. "I expected the ceremony to last all day."

"As did I, dear Brother," Aendril replied. "It seems that something had other plans though. A monstrous, winged beast interrupted and I had to take the shot early, lest I be caught up in fighting it."

"A great, winged beast?" Arnbjorn asked. "You didn't want that kill as well?"

"It was the size of the keep, boy, you wouldn't have fought it either."

"Are you trying to tell me you encountered a dragon?" Arnbjorn laughed at the elf. "You need to stay away from those pies that Khajiit merchant friend of yours makes, dragons haven't been around in thousands of years."

"It's true," Nazir said as he entered. "I saw it fly past Bleak Falls Barrow on my way here from Whiterun.

"You're both seeing things, dragons aren't real," Arnbjorn laughed louder this time.

"Careful Arnbjorn," Festus Krex cautioned. "Our cannabilistic brother here may make you his next meal while you're out hunting if you keep laughing at him." "Doubtful," Aendril snorted, smirking. "I don't like the taste of_dog_."

"I'll show you-"

"Calm, dear husband," Astrid's ever soothing voice came from the stairs in the back of the chamber. "Neither of you will be eating any of your brothers, unless you wish to answer to me." Even as young as she was, Aendril had watched her rise to be where she was, and knew that if it came to blows, only she could make him sweat, and her Blade of Woe made it almost certain he would lose, as one cut would weaken him as much as if she tore through his belly. He smiled at the thought, as always, knowing that she was well deserved of her position, and that he'd chosen correctly by supporting her.

"I take it your mission was a success?" She asked Aendril, leveling her cold, yet strangely warm eyes at him as she placed her hand upon her husband's shoulder, which seemed to calm him instantly.

"It was, the man now serves Sithis in the Void."

"Good, I'm sure our typical arrangement will suffice for payment?"

"Aye, just leave it in my chest and take care to not trigger my wards."

"Very well. I'd like you to find out more on this dragon business while we wait for a real contract for you. Nazir's few have already been claimed."

"I could use a hunt anyway, I'm a bit hungry."

Aendril put the Imperial armor over near the armory for anyone who may need it, grabbed a tunic and pants to cover his Shrouded gear, throwing his cloak over all of it, and headed out of the sanctuary and into the Falkreath wood. Smelling rain in the air, he lifted his hood and smiled, flicking his tongue against his sharpened canines, scraping the surface of it. Aendril inhaled deeply, always enjoying the air in Falkreath, and decided to head west toward Markarth. He stumbled across a pair of Vigilants of Stendarr, hunting for a werewolf.

"You there!" The big one shouted, ignoring all sense of civility, "Who are you and what business do you have here?"

"Me? I live here, brute," Aendril replied, tinging his voice with offence. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"There's a werewolf in the area, we've tracked it here."

"I've seen no werewolves, and I live in these woods and hunt for my food. I'm hunting right now because I'm hungry."

"Well get on with it then, we'll be watching you though."

"Good," Aendril sneered as he said it, snapping his left arm forward to launch a slender knife through the throat of the larger Vigilant, severing the carotid artery and tearing through the whole of the knife passed all the way through the man's neck, burying itself half an inch deep in the tree on the other side. A cough and sputtering sound emerged from the ban has blowed flowed from the new holes in his throat and he collapsed to the ground. "My, my, I _am_ hungry."

"You're an _abomination of the natural order!"_

"Hardly," Aendril smiled as he spat his reply, slashing the man's hand as he hefted his heavy silver mace. "I actually prefer deer, or a good mammoth steak."

"The _why_ are you doing this?"

"You were rude to me." Aendril explained, "or rather, he was. Apologize and I _may_ let you live."

"I'm sorry, just let me go and I'll never return, andf I'll ensure my brothers know of your mercy."

"Fine, go, but don't whine so much."

The man bent down to retrieve his dead friend then, struggling with his weight.

"Did I say you could take him?" Aendril pointed his curved blade menacingly. "I _did_ say I was hungry."

"But I thought," the Vigilant stammered.

"That I was joking?" Aendril laughed, "No, dear boy, you don't know much of my people do you? No, no, he stays, and by the time the moon is high in the sky I'll have had my fill, I do enjoy spit roasted Nord."

"How can you even tell he's a Nord?" The Vigilant inquired, trying to hide the fact that he was reaching for his mace again.

"The same way I can see that you're a Breton, and that you're trying to grab your mace and hit me with it." Aendril stepped forward, impossibly quick and slid blade of his knife up along the throat of the man, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "I'm nearly seven hundred years old, _boy. _I've seen more emperors fall than you can even _name_. I've fought more daedra than you can imagine and been _within_ Oblivion to keep the hordes at bay. Don't deign to tell me what an _abomination_ I am. I've met gods and watched them fall back to mortality, seen a a man change into a dragon and shove Mehrunes Dagon back into Oblivion and then become a statue. You and your order don't even _know_ the natural order of things, and _that_ is why I'm letting you live. Take your friend and go, and think _hard_ on what you believe before you go searching for '_abominations._'"

The young man had soiled himself, Aendril could smell it as he released him, a thin red line appearing where the blade had sat. He leaned back and watched him struggle with the larger body, then manage to mostly support it as he stumbled away, toward the actual city of Falkreath.

Aendril put the encounter, and his memories, out of his mind as he headed toward Markarth once again and spotted a large elk drinking from a small pond. He pulled his bow out and notched one of his wicked arrows. The barbs were designed in a way that they came out of a wound easily if you knew exactly how, otherwise they tore muscle and ripped an even bigger hole upon exit. He pulled the string back to his ear lope and let fly, one fluid motion, and watched as the arrow sailed through the air, thudding deep into the beast at the base of the skull, severing the spine with its impact. As he beagn to smile though, he noticed something _wrong, _the animal had fallen _towards _him, and he could've sworn it started to do in the instant before his arrow hit it. Stepping out toward the animal, he saw a young, red headed woman, emerge from the trees on the other side of the pond from him, a bow in her hand. The two met at the Elk and sized each other up before examining the kill.

"Good shot," she told him with a smile as she slid her arrow out of the socket that had contained the eye she'd popped with hers as it entered the brain.

"You as well," he smiled back at her as he twisted his arrow counter-clockwise to retrieve it. "I don't know that I've ever seen a human shoot so well, much less a Nord."

"Well, you'd be surprised," She sat back and removed a skinning knife from the back of her belt. He saw then how gracefully and comfortably she moved, able to discern her lithe, toned form even through her armor, primarily by her movements, though the tone in her legs showed clearly through the leather pants she wore and her arms were bare to the wrist.

"Clearly," he responded, still with a smile as he pulled his own knife from his belt and sat down next to her to work on the opposite end of the animal.

"Well, I obviously can't eat or carry all of this by myself, join me for a meal and split the rest?"

"Sounds good to me, but it is late and there are bandits aplenty. I don't fear for my own safety, but a woman alone, especially one such as you?"

She laughed at his comment, "A woman such as me? Did you not see that shot?"

"Aye, I did, but you can't shoot when you sleep, and two hunters are much less likely to be troubled at night than one."

"True enough," She acquiesced with a chuckle, "Just stay in your own tent, I know how honeyed you elves can make your words.

"Sounds to me like you've not met many elves. I find most of them to be a bit dull if I do say so myself, although my people, the wonderful Bosmer, do know how enjoy life."

"I'm sure!" She said as she began to remove the meat on her end." I'm Tali by the way, Tali Lightfoot."

"Tali Longshot more like it," he proclaimed. "Aendril is my name, the son of Dalengoth, a Bosmer Hunter who died long ago, along with my mother."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," she sad, the happiness gone from her voice.

"Oh, no," he backpedaled. "Don't be sorry, they lived long and wonderful lives, and met during the Alliance War and helped keep Nirn from being pulled into Coldharbour! They were getting up there when I was born, and I was just over 100 when they died, peacefully, and happy."

"Your parents were in the Alliance War?" She asked, her inner scholar shining through, bringing the happiness back to her face.

"Oh, aye," he replied, glad he didn't ruin the conversation with his newest friend, though he doubted they would meet again when they parted in the morning. "They fought in it and I fought during the Oblivion Crisis and in the Great War, among other things."

"You were in the Great War as well? What did you do?"

"I was a scout," he paused, unsure of where this would go if he was honest about the side he was on. "I fought for the Dominion, as my parents had a thousand years before."

"Interesting," She didn't seem to care what side he had been on in the least. "I'm sure you have _plenty_ of fantastic stories I could never hope to find in books."

"Oh, I do, but I'll only share my adventures with someone who'll share theirs."

"Deal."

The two laughed and sang and conversed all night, swapping stories about their adventures, after only a couple turns he led the stories with her asking all sorts of questions, the two certainly becoming fast friends as they cooked their meat and ate, salting everything else to keep it from rotting on them, and then she showed him a trick with frost magic to preserve the meat that he, in his centuries of experience, had never thought of. He went to bed that night in quite a pleasant mood, the two of them opting to sleep under the canopy of trees rather than tents because of the clear skies and warmth of the evening for midsummer. He looked over and saw her fast asleep on her bedroll, her armor piled next to it as she slept in a simple tunic for comfort. He'd opted to keep his leggings on, as they were loose enough to stay comfortable, and underneath his Shrouded armor was hardly discreet. He laid back, happy to have ended the night on a positive note, and let himself fall into a world of dreams.

Aendril woke early as the sun was still gracing the horizon and noticed that his companion was still asleep. After his bags were packed and checked, he scrawled out a note thanking her for her company and attached it to a bag of a hundred septims, unsure of how badly she may need it, along with a couple of potions to cure any disease she may encounter. Aendril shook his head as he walked off toward Markarth, thinking of disease running rampant if you weren't careful. That, along with the extra speed and strength, may be the only thing he missed about his vampirism, though it wasn't nearly enough to prompt him to succumb to that particular infection again. He'd cured it during the Oblivion Crisis, with the help of Vicente Voltierre and Count Janus Hassildor of Skingrad, before he'd headed back home to Valenwood to help deal with the threat there and secure the Sanctuaries within the massive, rolling forest. It only took him a couple of hours to reach Markarth, and from there he took a carriage to Whiterun. The driver had just come from there the night before, and spun a tale to him of a massive blonde man and a fierce fiery haired woman fighting a dragon out by Western Watchtower. The end of the story is what caught Aendril's attention though, as the massive Nord had seemed to absorb the dragon's very soul, withering it to the bone in a moment, and then using a fierce power called the _thu'um_.

_Could this be the same dragon from Helgen?_ Aendril thought to himself as he sat in the back of the carriage lost in thought. He doubted the dragon was the same as that which he saw, as the incredible force that was at Helgen couldn't _harm_ the beast, while these two and a handful of guards had _killed_ this one from the story. Even accounting for the exaggeration of the ease with which the dragon was defeated, he couldn't believe that it was the same one, meaning _there were more. _Everything he'd read on Dragons were mostly Nord histories and theories on the Alduin and Akatosh dichotomy, so he didn't actually know much about these creatures, except that they never actually died, that the only way to kill one permanently was for a rare "dragonborn" to slay it, or be near when it is slain, to devour the essence. The stories he read also spoke of the seemingly dead dragons rising again when called upon by Alduin the World Eater. If this Alduin was who attacked Helgen, then not only skyrim, and not even Tamriel, but potentially the whole of Nirn was at risk.

_ At least it was only mortals endangering the world for the last two centuries_ Aendril thought to himself and let a soft laugh out.

"Here we are," the carriage driver said to him, "Whiterun."

"Thank you," Aendril said to the man as he paid him the fifty drakes they'd agreed upon, just now realizing how long he'd been lost in thought. As he stepped from the carriage though, he saw an Imperial soldier, an Auxilliary by the look of him, running toward the gate, dripping with sweat and out of breath, carrying an ax, but in such a way that suggested it was more than a mere weapon. He followed the man in, and trailed him a bit, listening around for snatches of conversation, the two splitting paths when the man headed toward Dragonsreach while Aendril aimed to enter the Bannered Mare, ordering a strong mead and sitting by the fire, his cloak wrapped about him and his hood up partially obscuring his face. He looked around and saw a woman arguing with the local bard, a pair of warriors, both adorned with fresh bruises drinking heartily in the corner, Sam Guvene, a man who was more than he seemed challenging any and all to a drinking game, and of course, the local gossiping warriors.

He tried to listen to the warriors but the Bard had begun singing of "conquering" a woman, Carlotta, who he assumed was the woman he'd been fighting. She began to shout at him from afar and he began to play and sing louder. The man was beginning to give Aendril a headache. Seeing the woman become even more angry, she walked over to the bard, and attempted to slap him, but he grabbed her hand as it neared his face and continued singing as he pulled her toward him. Growing sick of the whole incident, Aendril slipped a pair of his thin knives from their pouch within his swordbelt and, with a fluid motion, shot his arm outward and then rested it back in his lap. The room grew quiet as the bard released Carlotta, slowly turning his head to the knife embedded in the neck of his lute, which had destroyed the instrument's strings, and then carefully looked at the one that had passed an inch deep into the wood right next to his eye.

"It appears that I missed," Aendril said to the man, setting his pitch black eyes to meet the frightened gaze, much like that of a deer who know's it's doomed. "Leave the girl alone, and forget that song, and I'll not have to correct my aim." He then turned to the two guards who'd been talking to anyone who'd listen. "Now, what was that about this dragon slayer?"

The guards sat with dumb looks on their faces before the bearded one composed himself. "Dragon _born_ I said!" The man nearly shouted it. "He ate the soul of the dragon and then _shouted_, like the Greybeards! And then they summoned him to High Hrothgar, using the _Voice_!"

"Interesting," Aendril said as he looked to the front door opening, nitcing it had begun to rain and that the moon was high in the sky. He heard howling off in the distance, and the men around him were still talking, but his eyes remained trained on the soaked form that had opened the door. A lithe female form wearing a hunter's cloak and a hood stepped in, immediately removing the cloak to reveal that she'd soaked through, her deep red hair dripping as well. She moved with the grace of an elf, that and her air of cool confidence confirmed her identity before she'd brushed her hair from her face and turned toward him.

"Aendril!" She said, happy to see a familiar and friendly face.

"Longshot!" He shouted back with a rare smile on his narrow face, "What brings you all the way up here?" "Nothing pleasant, I'm afraid," her tone was darker now. "I work as a scout for the Legion when they need my skills, sort of like a free agent, because I never swore the vows and I don't wear the uniform."

"Nothing wrong with working for the Empire," he said to her. "But what is it they've got you doing here?"

She leaned in close, almost whispering it, "Ulfric has amassed forces just outside Whiterun, he plans to lay siege to the city."

"What? Now?" He asked, disbelieving it.

"Nay, in the morning. Soldiers are building barricades now. I only came here to get a bite and a room."

"Are you not going to leave the city?"

"I can't, these people need help. I'm a good shot, so I'm going to fight with them."

"I don't know if it's your honor rubbing off on me, our friendship, or your beauty that compels me, but I find myself needing to stay and fight at your side."

"My beauty eh?" Tali laughed and took a deep draw from her bottle of mead. "I was right, you _are_ a sweet talker."

"I've only had a few centuries to learn."

"Well, you'll have to try harder if your goal is my bed, but I'll share a room, and a meal, with you for the evening."

The night dragged on and the two retired to their room, sitting on one of the beds sharing a bottle of fine Cyrodillic Brandy, while Aendril regaled her with more stories, this time he spoke of the time he nearly killed, and ended up fighting alongside, the Nerevarine.

"How have you lived so long?" She asked him, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm an Elf, love, we live quite a long time."

"Oh, I know you do, a few centuries usually, but not seven, and certainly not still looking like normal Man does at forty."

"You're a bright girl, you can work it out, I'm sure."

"Necromancy?"

"Never, I'm not much for spells and waking the dead." Aendril looked at her with a smile.

"Corprus, like the Nerevarine?"

"Oh gods no!" He laughed this time and took a swig from the bottle. "Porphyric Hemophilia."

"Vampirism? But you look so _normal!" _She looked shocked, and skeptical, but strangely, not frightened.

"Aye, a man I thought as a brother cursed me with it when I was but seventy, and I aged not a day until I cured it with the help of Count Hasildor of Skingrad some two hundred years ago. I've maybe got another century or so left in me without any help, but I embrace the Void when it comes, instead of fear it in my age."

"A century is quite a long time still."

"That it is, and there is plenty I can do and see in that time. Perhaps I will even return home at some point among the trees of Valenwood and finish out my life there."

"Sounds like a good plan to me, I traveled through once, it was beautiful."

"Enoy the hunting?"

"Oh yes, I wouldn't eat anything but meat, as I know your people find the plants sacred."

"That we do, but that is our pact with Y'ffre, not yours." Aendril smiled again, watching her try to stay awake to hear more stories and learn was a wonderful thing, but the moon was high, and they needed their sleep. "Lay down, Longshot, we both need our rest if we are to survive the morn."

"Aye," she agreed, signaling for him to turn as she removed her heavy gear, retrieving a cotton tunic to wear to sleep. Unable to help himself, or rather, sure of his stealth, he tried to peek at her out of the corner of his eye, but took a pillow to the face as he did.

"Not as sneaky as you think, Elf!" She smirked as she said it, her tone clearly playful. He drank the sight in, her tunic long enough to be modest, but it's fit and the whole of her exposed legs showed him where her grace came from. Even as inebriated as she was, she moved like he did, all because of her strong muscles that had been toned in a pleasant, and shapely way. Seeing her like this as she retrieved her pillow and made up her bed, he realized how fierce she was. Her strength and movements screamed _predator_, and he knew that she was not a woman who feared wandering the woods alone at night, no matter how beautiful she was. He'd never been attracted to a human before, but this Nord was stirring things in him he hadn't felt in the better part of a century. She stood up after finishing making her bed, mussing her hair so that it was loose as she slept, turning to him and smiling before laying down. He smiled back and lay down as well, opting to leave the room to change, as he would need to wear a set of armor he hadn't donned in a few years for the battle to come, and he couldn't hide his Shrouded gear under it.

He woke the next morning later than anticipated. She'd already partially dressed when he woke, and was retrieving her undertunic when he opened his eyes. He repectfully closed them immediately, but couldn't deny that he'd had quite a view, and told her that he was awake. Aftert she assured him she was decent, he woke, itched a scar on his chest and searched his bag. He rarely wore it, but he never went without it; a set of masterfully crafted Boiche Elder armor. The leather strips that comprised the outer layer emblazoned with a vined pattern, a reminder of the Green Pact. He also retrieved retrieved the daggers that had been crafted with it, bone handled with a blade of reinforced Moonstone. They were larger than his standard blades, but much more fit for battle, the only reason for not using them normally being his sadness at being unable to return home as of yet. The handles were carved into the shape of a tree, and felt warm to the touch. They, too, served as reminders of Valenwood and their devotion to Y'ffre. The blades were nearly two foot long each, and curved back at the last quarter, with serrated teeth running back along the rear edge. The hilts were spiked at odd angles upward from the guard, designed with the intention of turning and breaking the grip of a blade that is locked with it. They were fearsome blades indeed, and they reminded him of who he was. The armor itself surprised him, still fitting snugly after all these years, hugging his form but not restricting movement at all. He donned his helmet last, pulling the mask up and securing it to each side. He looked at Tali, who nodded in approval at him. He checked her gear, making sure it had no rents or gaps. He felt protective of her, and that's exactly what he inteded to do in the coming battle. He threw his bow acorss his shoulders and strapped his quiver to it's customary spot on his swordbelt, which also held his usual blades and his hidden throwing knives. He stretched his fingers over the pommels of his Boiche blades, ensuring his finger dexterity was as uncompromised as the rest of him. Satisfied, he nodded at Tali, who led him out and into a line of soldiers who were heading out of the gate to dig in against the Sotrmcloaks.

They received their orders and he stood with Tali atop the second gate that the Stormcloaks would have to make it through. The first had no door, only a barricade. Beyond this gate lay the drawbridge, which they could easily retreat to from their perch. A sea of blue uniforms was approaching quickly, interspersed with the captains, wearing furs, and the generals, wearing a mix of bear pelts and spiked plates.

"Archers!" A shout came from behind them, the two of them lifting their bows with the others that made their hundred up for the first barrage.

"_Loose!"_ Came another cry and the sky darkened in front of them, arrows finding targets all across the lines of Storcloaks, who immediately began running, charging forward. A second barrage was loosed, causing more Stormcloaks to fall, this one being met with a barrage from their own archers, though it was unorganized and innaccurate, falling far short of the mark. Half of the bowmen for Whiterun put down their bows and picked up the swords and shields that lay at their feet, ready to meet the attackers once they broke through the barricade. they slammed against it, the spikes impaling several, arrows raining down upon more. Once they were through, they concentrated on the bowment who were approaching, letting the Legionnaires take care of the horde pushing forward. They continued pushing them back, both sides losing men left and right, but for every man that Whiterun lost, four Stormcloaks were cut down. They pulled back out of the gate and regrouped, giving the severely wounded time to escape back into the city, which had cut down the forces by half. An arrow flew past Tali's head, and Aendril fired one of his horrific arrows into his eye. She returned the favor by putting one into the throat of an archer who had crept up to their flank and had trained his bow on Aendril. The archers were soon the lesser problem, as the footsoldiers had found a way up to their level. Tali continued raining arrows upon the coming men, taking down one every time she fired, while Aendril met the men coming up at them head on, slashing left and right, high and low, taking out a near continuous string of warriors in what appeared as a single fluid motion. He was halted by a massive man wielding two longswords, a general by his armor, They clashed and the reach he had on Aendril, combined with Aendril's goring of any other soldier to try and pass him amking the match more even than it usually would be, the strain and sweat causing his mask to fall. Back and forth they went for several minutes before Aendril managed to lock blades with him, grinning as he did, knowing this was it.

"Time to serve Si-" he managed as he began twisting his blades from the man's hands, the Nord's face showing fear for the first time until Aendril's view was filled with red and he knew nothing but pain, releasing an inhuman scream of pain and rage. He felt a punch in his shoulder and felt the familiar sensation of steel in his hand sliding against bone as his blade exited a chest, and then a punch in his back, just over the shoulderblade on the same side as the first shot, and another in the side of his thigh as he fell below the edge of the wall. He heard a voice, and felt gentle hands shaking him, and she was screaming at him. That it was a she he was certain now. He focused on the voice, and the red in his vision faded, but the pain in his body intensified. He looked up and saw Tali standing over him, a horrified look on her face as she worked at the straps holding his armor on. Se broke the arrow shaft off and pulled the arm piece of and managed to get that arrow out, as it had passed all the way through. He tried to lean back and screamed in pain, which caused him to scream even louderas his mouth stretched, and he realized that there was a wooden shaft in his mouth, extending out either side. He looked to Tali to confirm his fears.

"Bite," she instructed, a grimace on her face as she saw the pain doing so caused. She cut away the fletching and pulled the arrow through, blood filling his mouth as she did, and the drug out pain of it causing him to lean back again, shoving the barbed arrow deeper into his shoulder. He screamed again, this time the air escaping felt relieving as it cooled his burning cheeks, their new holes ragged. She removed the straps that held his chestpiece on and broke the shaft of the arrow. She removed his armor and set it to the side, having him turn over and kneeling on his back to help keep him still. She reached down and squeezed both of his hands as the field medic worked at cleaning the wound, pouring hot wine over it. He then realized that he'd been carried back inside, and was in the temple of Kynareth. When had he lost consciousness? Had the battle been won? The priest, Danica Pure-Spring, ordered him to bite the wet rag she held in front of him, and he did, hard, letting out a long, continuous groan of pain as she cut away the torn flesh of his back to assess the damage. Though skilled in Restoration, and able to mend him as best she could to ease the pain and stop the bleeding, she still had to seperate the muscle from around the barbed arrowhead, as moving it would cut deeper and do more damage, his tensity making it that much worse. He squeezed Tali's hands that still lay in his, harder than he intended, but she neither flinched nor made a sound to indicate it had hurt. She only moved from his back to in front of him, leveling her eyes with his and attempting to sooth him as Danica took her spot and began to pull the arrow from him. They'd learned that the head had extended past the bone and had to turn it as they removed it to get it out, causing him enough agony to pass out again.

He awoke in a room with a clean bed, sweating profusely wearing nothing but a strange pair of cotton short pants and a number of bandages. He tried to move and groaned as pain shot through his back, chest, arm, and leg. At his groaning, Tali rushed into the room from where she'd stood outside talking to a Legate. She placed a cool wet rag on his forehead and checked his bandages, they seemed clean for the moment and he was, as of yet, clean from infection.

"What happened?" He asked her, removing the bandage filling that'd been stuffed into his cheeks to keep him from drowning in blood, happy to see that the bleeding had fully stopped there, though he wasn't confident if the holes would close fully or not.

"You saved my life, to an unbelievable extent. You were the most dangerous thing on that ledge, and you were keeping them from advancing, as once you were gone, they would have taken me with ease because of the numbers and multitude of directions, and potentially killed another hundred men, possibly taken the city. You're a hero.

"I'm no such thing, and what happened to _me?"_

"You are to me at least, even if the legion won't recognize it. The Stormcloaks saw it too, and they tried to take you out, it's lucky they're such terrible shots." She touched his cheek then, gently, tracing her finger over the wound that would certainly leave a grotesque scar. You should be able to walk easy in a couple of days, I'm staying here with you, this is our room. Jarl Balgruuf paid for it for two full weeks, and said if we need it longer to let him know, he'd like to speak with you when you're better.

"Because I'm wounded? There were hundreds wounded in the fighting."

"Not this bad. Many died, but the wounded have mostly recovered, and none of them took down five men while being filled with arrows."

"Fair enough," he laughed, then groaned. "Laughing hurts."

"That's too bad, because you need to laugh," She said with a smile, though he saw a single tear drop down her cheek.

"What's wrong?" He asked her, sitting up and ignoring the pain.

"They told me that you'd lost too much blood, that your fever was too high, that you wouldn't make it."

"Well, they've clearly never seen me before." He smiled reasurringly at her, then reached forward to embrace her, which seemed to loose another few tears. "Thank you," he said to her, a smile in his voice.

Leaning back he saw that she was smiling, had dried her cheeks and that most of the redness was gone from her eyes. "I think it's about time _you_ tell _me_ a tale of your adventures."

She smiled even wider, and he saw the Legate nod and walk away. She began to recount her first Dwemer ruin, which she'd come acorss on the outskirts of the Alik'r desert. In that moment, nothing else mattered; not his wounds, or the battle past, or the future, his past, not even the Brotherhood mattered; the only thing that concerned him was her warm form that had moved to sit curled next to him as he lay, her hand resting on his chest, holding his own; and her smile, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

Aendril woke and stretched, taking extra time to work the muscles in his right shoulder once he was sitting. They'd been allowed to move to a larger room, one with a larger bed due to Tali's refusal to leave his side after his fever had returned. It had been two weeks since the battle, and he'd only been able to send one letter to Astrid without arousing suspicion. Reaching up to his face he itched the thick scar on his cheek. Almost elliptical in shape, small, but still quite noticable, the arrow had made his face far more recognizable when it had passed through his face. Lucky as he was to be alive, especially since if that particular arrow had hit a few inches in almost any direction he'd certainly not be sitting here, contemplating abandoning the collapsing Brotherhood. The Night Mother was lost, they were down to eight members in Skyrim and, as far as he knew, all of Tamriel. Their contracts came by word of mouth, just rumors overheard in taverns and on the road. There was no reason the believe that they would return to power, and no reason to continue the meager existence in that damp cave. They were his family though, and had been for the vast majority of his life. He turned to look at Tali's still sleeping form and smiled. She was an excellent shot, but her heart was too pure to join their family, and he didn't know how she would react to knowing he was part of such a group. They'd become close in these past couple of weeks, and it was a rare connection he didn't feel like losing, so he'd have to keep it hidden whenever they spent time with one another.

Standing, he felt that the stiffness in his leg had almost dissipated completely as well, and he should be able to return to the Sanctuary that night. He'd been able to work with Eorland Grey-Mane to repair his armor, and, though he had doubts on it, the man put out the best steel in all of skyrim, while also being a skilled leatherworker. Tali also had been working leather for most of her life, and the three of them had been working on getting the holes patched _just right_. He was set to pick up the finished piece today, from the Skyforge overlooking Jorvaskr. The trip would also be a test on his mobility, as he had to decend the stairs to the main chamber of the inn, then down more steps, then up the steps to the Cloud district, up the steps to Jorvaskr, and then up a final set of stairs to the Skyforge, after which he was to go to Dragonsreach and speak with Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. It was going to be a long day, but he knew if he couldn't do this, there was no way he'd even be able to make the trip back to the sanctuary, much less be of use once he arrived.

"Awake already?" Came a sleepy voice from behind him as he put on one of a handful of wool shirts that had been given to him.

"The sun is rapidly gaining height," He told her, apprehension tugging at his voice. "It will be mid day soon, and I'd rather not keep Eorland waiting."

Tali smiled at him and smelled the air, "I think I smell fresh sweet rolls." Shee looked at him pointedly as he said this, a half smile upon her face.

"You get dressed, and I'll go get some," he laughed and headed out of the room, the smell filling his nostrils with little effort. He made his way down the stairs with ease, paying for a platter of the fresh sweetrolls and heading up the stairs with them. He entered the room to see Tali stringing her bow, dressed in her full adventuring gear. Her armor had needed a bit of patching as well, but nothing had managed to even touch her skin. He'd later learned that under the layers of leather was a chain mesh of malachite links, with thick, padded wool under that; he'd been surprised at how heavily armored she was, to say the least.

"Dangerous plans?" He asked her as he offered the platter toward her, taking one of the hot rolls from it himself and biting into it.

"Not so much, but as we're parting ways this evening, I thought we might get a good hunt in on our way to the crossroads. I heard there's a stray mammoth wandering around near Western Watchtower. The Giant out that way was killed recently, so this one probably wandered off from the herd, or they were all killed."

"Sounds like a plan to me, ever hunted one before?"

"Nope," she said full of enthusiasm. "That's why you're going to show me how." She tossed another sweetroll at him to punctuate her statement.

"It's pretty easy," he responded, catching it in his right hand without looking away from her. "Just stay away from the tusks, and move if it charges."

"Move and stay far from the pointy bits, got it."

"I'm ready when you are," he said to her, stringing his own bow as she finished her roll.

"To Eorland!" She nearly shouted, excited for him.

The two walked down the stairs and thanked everyone for their help and hospitality, then made their way outside. The two other Bosmer, brothers standing at their stall and watching as he went, smiling. They'd been on the wall as well, and had seen what he'd done and watched him fall. They'd also rushed forward and provided cover for him and Tali once he'd lost consciousness. He was glad for how much he'd been working out these past couple weeks, because the stiffness in his leg and shoulder were nearly imperceptible. They made their way up the stairs to the Cloud district and up to Jorvaskr with relative ease. The first real test came now, as the steps up to the Skyforge were steep, each step a fair distance higher than the last. Though his thigh held a dull ache now, he looked at the view from atop the stairs, and saw Aela standing with Eorland. Aela the Huntress was a Companion, and thus often did business with Eorland, but she seemed to be watching him as he approached, not speaking to the smith at all. Eorland stood next to his forge with his massive arms crossed in front of his barrel chest. For a human who was nearing seventy, he was incredibly healthy, and strong. All metal relented under his hammer, and Aendril was certain if he ever decided to do battle, the sight would be fearsome indeed.

"If either of you ever would like a companion to hunt with, you know where to find me," Aela told them, meeting his eyes in particular, and then walked off, emenating strength and an animal like ferocity.

"Don't mind her," Eorland said to them. "Most of the Companions missed the fight for one reason or another and, being mostly Nords of high reputation, you two ruffled their feathers I think."

"I seem good at that," Aendril laughed.

"You seem well," Eorland noted, turning to retrieve the package behind him. "First, your undamaged gear. Thank you for letting me use it to get the leatherwork right."

"Thank you," Aendril said to him, nodding and taking the helmet, hood, mask, gloves, and boots.

"It was tricky, but between this wonderful young lady and I, and she hunted, skinned, and tanned the leather until she deemed it fit enough, I think we've fixed it well." He retrieved the leggings, showing first the whole and then showing them where the damage had been. That arrow in particular had passed_underneath_ the leather strap where the vine design was, and had pierced the solid leather piece underneath that served as the actual legging. The mark was very difficult to notice, and only a small discoloration showed. "I almost forgot to leave out my mark, _she_ was quick to remind me though."

Aendril laughed, "I'm sure she was. I'd be proud to have the mark of a smith as skilled as you on my armor though."

Eorland laughed as well, a deep, hearty sound, akin to that of a bear. "The chestpiece is the real piece of work though. It had been torn in two places, and had been further ripped when they removed it from your body to work." He held it out to Aendril, who looked over and examined it closely,a s he knew Eorland wanted.

"Where-" Aendril began.

"I asked myself that as well," he nearly shouted. "She did most of the work on that one, I simply refitted the straps and helped when she needed it."

He looked at Tali, and saw that her face was consumed by the biggest grin he'd ever seen. "You told me you worked leather, but _this?_ Are you certain you didn't grow up in Valenwood?"

"Nay, Cyrodiil, I'm certain," she laughed and reached over his shoulder, her hair falling across his neck as she leaned in. He noticed her scent again then. A pleasent, wooded scent, almost like pine, but with a small, almost smoky tinge to it. It was a smell he found incredibly appealing. He'd been cured of his vampirism for two centuries, but he'd somehow retained the ability to identify smells, and had since noticed that individuals he was quite close to had a discernable scent. All of his Brothers held metallic scents that reminded him of blood, and though they all had their unique smells as well, the scent of death overshadowed it all. Perhaps Aela had smelled this on him, he knew that the Circle were all Werewolves, and perhaps that is why she'd stared him down as she did.

"Your work is amazing, Longshot," he said to her, looking at her deep green eyes, which were bright with happiness, her smile captivating.

"Thank you, both of you," he said, looking at each of them in turn. He reached into his pack and handed Eorland a sack of coins. The man had already been paid his fee for his work, but he deserved the extra.

The Companions allowed him to gear up within Jorvaskr, and his armor fit him exactly as it had the day of the battle against the Stormcloaks, which surprised him. He flexked his fingers and rolled his shoulders, checking to make sure everything moved porperly. After securing his four blades, his quiver, and strapping his bow across his back, he donned the helmet, securing the hood to the leather band that worked as a sort of gorget for the the light armor. He opted to leave the mask down though, as he knew his next stop was the Jarl. He did, however, make the mistake of locking eyes with a young, headstrong Nord who was a recent addition to the Companions.

"Think you're better than us, do ya?" he asked, angry, standing and nearly knocking over his seat.

"A hundred septims sayd you can't hold your own against me."

Aendril looked to Tali, and then to Kodlak Whitemane, the Harbinger, who both nodded their approval.

"Only a hundred, child?"

"A hundred for blades, two for fists."

"Let's go fists then," Aendril smiled, lifting his mask up over his nose, letting it settle just under his eyes.

The two stood at the far end of the hall, in an open area that seemed set up for light sparring.

Aendril allowed the whelp to come at him first, dodging sideways easily and rapping him on the top of the head with a single knuckle. The boy responded by changing direction and launching a sideways kick at Aendril, who grabbed his foot and pushed it wide, knocking the boy off balance. Stepping in to close the gap, he struck at the warriors chest with an open palm, and wept his leg out from under him, landing flat on his back. Kodlak nodded again, and Aendril reached down to help him up, having been labeled victorious. The boy pulled himself up and attempted to pull Aendril off balance, only succeeding in propelling himself forward, which he tried to use to get in a lucky punch. Aendril sidestepped though, leaving his left foot in place to trip the boy once more.

"You're beaten, child. Stop making a fool of yourself." Kodlak said to him calmly.

"Draw your blade, Elf, double or nothing."

"Are you sure?" Aendril asked the man, raising an eyebrow.

"Practice blades only!" Kodlak shouted, tossing the boy a blunted version of his own sword.

"Aye, I'm sure."

"What sort of-" Kodlak was cut off before he could finish.

"Give him the same as me. Let's make this fair."

"Do it," Aendril said, his patience gone at this point.

The boy picked up a shield and motioned for Aendril to do the same, but he declined, standing sideways and turning the blade in his hand to test the weight. He moved the sword to his left hand, right side facing toward the attacker, and extended his hand, curling his fingers back in invitation.

Once again, the whelp rushed in, overestimating himself. Aendril waited until he was upon him before moving at all, stepping back and swinging his word in an arc the knocked the attacking blade out wide and forced the boy to raise his shield up near his face. Aendril slammed his shoulder into the shield, hearing a crack from behind it as a nose was broken. Stepping back, this time sword facing the attacker, he motioned again in invitation

"Make a fool of _me?" _the young man shouted as he stepped forward slashing in short, quick motions, driving Aendril backwards. Rearing back his sword, the boy slammed his shield forward, intending to bash aendril with it. Aendril stepped back and grabbed the edge of the shield, pulling it and smashing his sword across the boys shoulders, flat side of the blade to avoid breaking his back. The boy stood up spinning his shield at Aendril, intending to catch him with the steel edge, but his grip had relaxed on it too much, and the shield was torn from his hands as Aendril stepped in and grabbed the wrist of his sword hand, twisting it until the sword fell to the ground, blade of his sword against the boy's belly. he felt the wrist crack and pushed the boy onto his back, placing the swordtip at his throat.

"It is not _I _who made a fool of you, but _yourself."_ Aendril said to him, pulling his mask down. "Know when you're beaten, and know when to back down. You have much to learn. Maybe one day you will best me, but you won't live long enough if you continue to fight like that."

Kodlak laughed at this, "Especially considering if your sword had held an edge, he would have died three times by my count, while you hold not a scratch."

"I'm old, and I've had time to learn to read my opponent."

"I'm old as well, Boiche," Kodlak said, surprising Aendril byt the respect he'd put behind his people's name for themselves. "I know a natural fighter when I see one."

"Thank you, Harbinger. I'm needed at Dragonsreach, though, perhaps we may speak another day."

"Perhaps," Kodlak nodded at them both before signaling for the others to help the young man.

Aendril and Tali headed up the mass of steps to Dragonsreach, the doors opening wide for them as they approached.

"The Longshot and the Whirlwind!" Came an excited shout from the throne. "Please, come in, I'm excited to see you both."

"And we, you, Jarl," Tali said as they approached.

"I apologize for the length of time it took me to respond to you, Jarl Balgruuf." Aendril said ti him, bowing slightly.

"No need, good man, I wanted to thank you for your deeds. Many more, possibly including myself and Irileth, would have died if not for your deeds. I name you Thane, if you would have it, each of you. It's an honorary title, mostly, and I don't have a housecarl for you, but it should help if you have any trouble within my hold. There's plot of land I have as well, that I can sell to you, just west of the southern gate, along the road."

"Thank you, Jarl, but I have to pass," Aendril said to him, not wanting to dedicate himself to anything.

"Well, the title is yours, whether you acknowledge it or not, perhaps your friend would be interesting in having a house built in my hold?"

"I think I would," Tali said to him. "I'm unsure of how long I'll be in Skyrim, and paying for a bed every night, and having to choose what I can keep, wears on a woman."

"Understandably. Now, do you have the means to pay for it?"

"I do," she told him, stepping forward to produce a sheet of parchment. A declaration of credit through the Empire for ten thousand septims, signed by the Imperial Treasurer himself.

"I suppose it'll do, the Empire hasn't gone back on one of these on me before."

"Thank you, Jarl, now if there's nothing else, I think we ought to be going before night decends, as we have many leagues to travel."

"Be safe, and may the Divines guide you."

"Thank you, Jarl." Aendril said to him before the two turned and left the hall, heading down the stairs and out of Whiterun.

"So, where are you off to?" She asked him.

"Back to Falkreath. I have a treehouse in the woods." He told her, only partially joking

Laughing, she responded, "I'm headed to Solstheim, I have to give my official report to General Tulius before I'm done with the whole ordeal.

"Makes sense, I suppose."

"Aye, you're going to help me with my house and visit, right?"

"Of course, Longshot!"

"Often?" she asked, her tone holding something different in it.

"As often as possible, I promise." He smiled reassuringly at her as he said this. Her tone had intrigued him, as it sounded like she feared she wouldn't see him again. Feeling as he did towards her, and he was growing more sure with each moment exactly what that feeling was, he had no intentions of going long between visits. Did she feel the same? He doubted it, she had barely seen her third decade, and would be gone long before he would, and he was an elf besides, and seven _hundred_ years old. If she shared his feelings though, none of that would matter. He would enjoy the forty or so years they would be allowed.

They hopped in the carriage, she elected to go first to Falkreath the whole way instead of him getting out and walking at the crossroads south of Rorikstead. Night was beginning to fall, and the decided against the mammoth hunt, knowing there were plenty and they could do it another time. She leaned on his shoulder as they talked, the night taking a heavy chill that, though he barely noticed, seemed to get to her. He found her large wool blanket stashed in with her bedroll and wrapped it around the two of them, she leaned in further and allowed his arm to go around her as they talked and told stories once more. Even as young as she was, it seemed she had nearly as many as he did.

The ride took longer than they'd thought, and it was late by the time they reached Falkreath. The driver told them he could take them the rest of the way in the morning, but that there was no way he'd travel those roads all night, especially not with her alone, too dangerous he'd said. They agreed easily and paid him in advance, paying for his room as well to ensure he waited for her in the morning. They bought a bottle of wine again and made their way up the stairs to the room they'd bought. This one two small beds, but they decided to push them together, as it was colder in Falkreath than anywhere else this far south. They changed into their standard sleeping attire, just facing away from each other this time, her in her thigh length white tunic and he in the cut off breeches he preferred to sleep in.

They sat and talked long into the night, emptying the bottle early and having to get another. By the end of it, neither of them could stand very well, and both were beyond ready to drop, so they blew out the candles and curled under the covers. Though their blankets were shared for warmth, they lay with enough space between them as to not make anybody uncomfortable. Tonight was different though, after they'd laid down, and several minutes passed, he felt her move. Suddenly alert, in case something was wrong, he began to sit up, but was pushed down by her familiar arm. He couldn't see anything in the pitch black room, so he knew she couldn't either, but somehow her lips found his and stayed there for a long moment, with him returning the kiss and the embrace, before she lay back down, this time her head resting on his shoulder, her hand resting upon his chest, and one of her legs draped over one of his own. Smiling, and hoping too all of the gods in existence, that this wouldn't be the beginning of something terrible, that this would remain good, and pure, and happy. He kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer against her, his arm wrapped around her waist, hand resting on her hip, and inhaled, taking in that smokey pine-esque scent of hers, and smiled, drifitng off deeply into sleep, blissfully ignoring that tomorrow, he returned to the Sanctuary, returned to the Brotherhood, and returned to sending souls to Sithis in a whirlwind of blood and pain.

Aendril stood in the rain, wearing his traveling cloak instead of his Boiche Elder armor he'd worn on the road to Falkreath. He waved at Tali the Longshot as she rode away in the carriage to Solitude. He could still feel the warmth of her last embrace, and taste her on his lips. They'd not defined what it was, but neither did they deny their mutual feelings for each other. They'd decided he would send word to him once she was back at her house-to-be outside of Whiterun, and then they would talk. As the carriage rounded a corner, he turned and walked toward the small Shrine of Arkay and the Falkreath Cemetery, a small distance beyond which lay the Sanctuary. Approaching the sanctuary, he stripped his cloak and traveling clothes from his body and placed them in his pack, retrieving his Shrouded armor. Once he held the darkly enchanted suit, he was suddenly filled with doubt, lost in thought as the rain poured down upon his bare skin.

What if he just left, turned around and never returned, perhaps met up with Tali in Solitude, putting this life of death and darkness behind him? They would seek him out, he knew, intent on killing him, though he had broken no vow, it was still an unforgivable betrayal. Would they only come after him, or would Tali be in danger? He knew if he left, he would one day be forced to slay his family, and he'd helped rebuild it to the broken family that it was. Deciding it best he stayed, at least until another fall occured, he donned the suit, leaving his hood down so that he could feel the rain as he continued to the Sanctuary.

At once upon descent into the entry chamber, he heard quite a commotion coming from the main chamber below. Heading down, he saw a large crate, and a _jester_ of all things.

"But the Night Mother is mother to all!" The jester exclaimed, "It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely, punishment?"

"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets _punished_," Arnbjorn spat at the gibbering Imperial.

"Oh, be quiet, you great lumbering lapdog!" Festus shot back at him, "The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero," he said, tone becoming much more accomadating than Aendril had ever heard from the old man. "I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are," Cicero seemed delighted at this new treatment," Sure to earn our Lady's favor."

Astrid chimed in then, regaining control of the situation, "You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero, and you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood_husband_?"

Arnbjorn scoffed and turned away, walking over to his forge to look at some bits of metal he'd brought back from his last supply run.

Cicero danced a little and clapped his hands, saying, "Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"But make no mistake," she warned, tone filled with implied doom, "I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh, yes, mistress," Cicero bowed a little, almost mockingly, " You're the boss!"

"The _Keeper_?" Aendril asked Astrid as he apporached once the exchange had ended.

"Yes, brother, he arrived only a little before you did, it seems, but we can discuss him later, you've been gone a long time." Her voice was layered with that calming quality that she has so mastered, but he could sense the questioning undertones within.

"You received my letter I trust?"

"I did, Aendril, and I see you did not exaggerate when it came to your face, those scars are quite fearsome."

"They are, but they didn't slow me down, I couldn't walk at all for three days and had to get my strength back before I came here. My arm needed time as well."

She stepped in close, so that only he could hear her. "And it had nothing to do with the Nord girl who cared for you, whom you arrived in Falkreath with last night?"

Aendril's eyes narrowed, filled with rage, but managing to speak softly, while conveying the exact distance of the line she had crossed. "I swear to you Astrid, I'm as loyal to you as your dear husband, but if you even_imply_ that any harm will come to that girl, _I will end you_ with a pain you can scarce imagine. I ensured your leadership when I gave you the Blade of Woe, the blade possessed by the last Listener, a man I watched die as Bravil was overcome by riots and the Night Mother's crypt defiled. I can _easily_ take it back, and you know full well that not a single Brother could keep it from happening, _mistress_."

He saw fear in her eyes for a moment as she realized her true position at that moment, she knew his speed, his reach, and his strength, and she knew that if he willed it, her throat would become a ruined fountain before she could utter a single cry.

"Just keep your loyalties in mind, _Brother, _and hope that nobody asks for her in the Black Sacrament."

"I will, _Sister_, so long as you remember my words."

"Good," she nodded, heading up the stairs to speak with him privately. "What do you think of this Keeper?"

"I'm not sure," Aendril sighed. "If he truly is the Keeper, and that truly is the Night Mother, it may be a sign that great things are to come. The last of the Night Mother I saw was when the Bravil Sanctuary was destroyed thirteen years ago, while I was visiting Cyrodiil to help the sanctuaries there."

"I'm not so sure it bodes well," she admitted, apprehension showing, a rare thing for her.

"Time will tell," he assured her. "The point is moot unless the Listener appears."

"And until that happens, there is no question of my leadership."

"None, whatsoever, Sister." She smiled at his insistence to refer to her as an equal, not a superior. He was the only one who did so, even Babette, the second oldest member, called her Mistress.

"In that case, I have a job for you," she began, changing gears entirely. "You know of the rumors of Aventus Aretino I assume?" Aendril nodded, settling back in his stone chair. "We're working on confirming them, I have an old friend working on it. If the boy has, in fact, performed the Sacrament, I want you to arrange and carry out the contract. What better way to introduce a young boy to us than to send our own incarnation of death itself?"

"Gladly, Sister, just let me know when the time has come, I will be here, continuing to rebuild my strength."

"Are you weak, Brother?"

"Not in the slightest, I'm simply not as physically strong yet as I was, though I daresay, I may be a bit quicker."

"Do as you wish, just be ready."

"Of course," Aendril responded, nodding as he stood and exited the room, intending to get a view on this Cicero character before he rejoined his family fully.

Approaching the Jester, he noticed the man talking to himself, almost conversationally. This Keeper was certainly insane, on a different level than was usually encouraged within the Brotherhood. Insanity of this sort is what caused the problems at the end of the third era, with Mathieu Bellamont, who gained the position of Speaker of the Black Hand, all with the intention of killing the Night Mother and the rest of the Hand, and he would have succeeded in most of his plan had Lucien Lachance's Silencer, named Speaker in his stead, not seen his intent and killed the man. His memories swam back to that man. A Breton Nightblade he'd been, and ridiculously skilled at taking a life without being seen. He couldn't remember the man's name, as it was rarely used anyway, but he'd been honored to be named his Silencer when he rose to Speaker, and had elected to retain his rank as such rather than be made Speaker once he was named Listener, all other Speakers save Arquen having been killed. He'd outlived them all by nearly two hundred years.

"Another member of the family, hmm?"

"Aye, Jester, and the Silencer of three Listeners as well."

Cicero's eyes went wide with excitement.

"You survived!" He exclaimed, "the Rose himself _is alive!_ But where have you been, hmm? You were there! In Bravil when the Night Mother's crypt was defiled! _You_ saw the Listener cut down! _You_ could have helped poor Cicero protect the Night Mother!"

"The Night Mother was in good hands, the Imperial faction was lost, and the only hope to continue our service to the Dread Father was to bring the news, and the Listener's blade, here, to Falkreath."

"But Cheydinhal was still safe! At least for a time! You could have warned poor Cicero! You could have stopped the False Listener from trying to take control! _You could have helped the Night Mother!_"

"Her Keeper seems to have kept her safe," Aendril nodded at him, deciding praise would calm the man down. "Of course Cicero has kept our sweet Mother safe!" he snapped, calming down immediately. "Yes, perhaps that was best too, it's easier to move her alone than to travel together, hmmm?"

"I have work to do, good Keeper, but we may talk again, soon."

"Ta ta!" the little man nearly shouted, turning back to the large crate and muttering to himself.

Aendril wandered off to the dining hall to speak with Nazir, who he'd seen head that way during his conversation with Cicero.

"The Rose, eh?" Came the Redguard's deep, rolling voice, "What an interesting nickname, and one I haven't heard since my days in Hammerfell."

"Does that mean you know how I gained such a name?"

"Not at all, Brother," Nazir sneered as he admitted so. "I know only that the Rose of Sithis was an arrow ritualistically sanctioned when failure of the first attempt was not an option, and that the assassin who gained such a nickname was the _deadliest_ of Eliminators. "Maybe so," Aendril smiled, "I _don't_ seem to ever miss."

"That you don't, friend!" Nazir laughed, smiling at him. "How are you now, that you are whole and home?"

"I'm good," Aendril smiled, feeling the truth of his words, home with his family.

"That is good," Nazir nodded. "We'd heard of the battle and your surprising involvement, and we were certain you'd be serving our Dread Father in the Void."

"You should know it takes more than a couple of arrows to end me, Nazir."

"Oh, I know, but fevers can be nasty, even for you Bosmer."

"We're a resilient group, for sure."

"You more than most, it seems," Nazir laughed. "Perhaps," Aendril laughed with his old friend. "Any decent contracts out lately?

"Oh, nothing really, though there is a trio I could use help rounding up, if you've got the time." "Oh?" Aendril was intrigued.

"A sellsword, Fultheim the Fearless, an abbrasive old woman, Alea Quintus, and a particularly nasty Khajiit named Vasha."

"Sounds easy enough."

"Especially for someone like you, there's no hurry though, take your time, maybe even take care of it on your way to Aventus eh?"

"Perhaps, that may be a few days though."

"Rest, regain your strength and stretch that shoulder."

"I think I will, thank you, old friend."

Aendril found a large hunk of meat cooking on the spit over the fire and cut himself off a large slice, finding himself quite hungry. There was always a reliable piece of meat here to eat, though the kills were usually more ragged when Arnbjorn hunted than when he did so himself. He dug in though, nicely charred on the outside but still warm, red and wet in the middle.

For the next few days Aendril caught up with his Brothers and Sisters, learning where they stood on Cicero and the Night Mother, who were now in the chamber above the small spring, with the leaded glass image of Sithis. Festus and Gabriella were eager for the return to tradition, though neither liked Cicero; Babette, Nazir, Veezara, and of course, Arnbjorn were cautious of it, expecting Cicero to try to usurp Astrid's leadership. Aendril was with them on that, and he severely mistrusted Cicero, even if he liked the thought of the Night Mother providing them with their contracts, should a Listener be found.

"Aendril," Astrid called from the entrance to the main chamber. "Pack your things, you're off to Windhelm, immediately."

"Is something wrong?" Aendril asked, curious of the urgency.

"Not at all, Brother," she responded in her calming, smooth voice. "I simply need you to deal with this business quickly, as I have something else for you to do once this is done, in Markarth."

"Sounds _interesting_. This child shouldn't require much, I'll be back by morning."

"Take Shadowmere, I need you to be swift, and she's your horse truly, anyway."

"It's been a long time since I've been in her dark saddle."

"That it has."

Aendril packed some basic provisions and lifted his mask up over his scarred face, raising his hood up so that only his eyes were visible. His knife-like ears and even the color of his hair were now indistinguishable, only his almond shaped eyes hinting at his heritage. Strapping his four blades onto his swordbelt along with his quiver of unique arrows and slinging his own bow across his shoulders, he headed out of the sanctuary, breathing in the cool evening air. He called forth Shadowmere, who seemingly rose up from the pool in front of the Sanctuary, though in truth he only came forth from the Void. Mounting Shadowmere, Aendril sped off north, intending to ride until Lake Ilinata and then head east, riding straight through Riverwood and hugging close to the Throat of the World until he crossed to the eastern side.

It took him a mere three hours to reach Windhelm at the pace and endurance that Shaowmere held, but Aendril's eyes burned from the cold air matched with the wind from the speed. He dismounted and slinked around the side to the smaller dock gate, slipping in without anyone noticing. He headed up and found the Aretino home and entered, the door unlocked. He heard voices upstairs though, a woman's and a child's. The boy was supposed to be alone, so Aendril remained in the lower level of the home, crouched under the stairs in shadow where he could hear each word. The voice was familiar, intensely so, the woman sounding almost like Tali, but that was impossible. She created a contract with the boy, and headed outside without noticing Aendril. The armor was diffierent, black and grey leather, and he couldn't see her hair, but by her build, she was a strong and shapely human who moved like an Elf, not many could pull that off.

He followed his target out of Windhelm undetected, determined to positively identify this would be assassin. As she mounted her horse, her hood fell back, and the flowing red hair gave it away before she pulled it away from her face. Aendril nearly cried out in frustration. Why was she here? What was she seeking to accomplish?

He followed behind her, keeping to the dark as she rode south to Riften. He moved as if in a daze, he couldn't believe this was actually happening. He followed her into the orphanage, where she crept through as the children slept and slit Grelod the Kind's throat without hesitation. Knowing her next destination, he left the orphanage, deciding upon his course of action as he went. He was on Shadowmere and back in Flakreath Wood faster than he'd realized, having been lost in thought the whole way. Dismounting quickly, he bolted into the sanctuary waking Astrid quietly, so as not to wake Arnbjorn, who wouldn't take kindly to the intrusion, especially as they both slept bare due to the heat he generated. She donned a robe quickly and met him outside of their chamber.

"What is it? Guards? Vigilants? Spit it out!" She pressed, anxious of what news he brought.

"We have a new murderer to recruit. A girl, a huntress, stole our contract. She's camping between Riften and Shor's Stone. I've got three contracts I can round up for Nazir, and we can give her the old _life for a life_ game."

"Would this girl be your Longshot, by chance?" Astrid asked, clearly already aware of the answer, but watching his eyes as she asked.

"Yes," he acknowledged, tone growing dark as he narrowed his eyes at Astrid.

"Oh, how sweet this is," she laughed darkly. "The _innocent_ girl you seem so caught on has murdered somebody in cold blood, why do you think she might do that?"

"What did you do?"

"Dear Brother, why would I do anything?" Astrid sneered. "I simply intercepted a letter to you, and responded telling her that she was naive to trust you, signing it with the Black Hand."

"I should gut you where you stand, _mistress_, I told you not to go near her."

"I didn't hurt her, I simply let her know what you were."

"And now I have to watch as you force her to kill three people, and induct her into _this_." He gestured angrily around.

"This is your life, if you forget."

"I won't forget this, and if this ruins anything," he allowed himself to trail off, leaving the implications hanging. "Go, take her to the Abandoned shack east of Solitude, in the marsh, I'll meet you there with the three targets. _Do not hurt her._" He left the threat clear at the end and left, hopping back on Shadowmere and rushing to collect the three targets, all of which were fairly conveniently located. Vasha was the hardest to find, as he was on the road when Aendril found him, but knocked out easy enough when Aendril extended his foot into the back of his head as he rode past, throwing him over the back of the unholy beast he rode with the other two. He reached the shack shortly before dawn, and dragged the three inside, waking them up and binding them so that they were stuck on their knees. Astrid arrived shortly after, an unconscious but unharmed Tali slung limp over her horse. Aendril lifted her and carried her inside, making certain that she was, in fact, unharmed. He roused her, meeting her eyes before slinking back to a dark corner of the room to observe the exchange, out of sight. He watched as she spoke with Astrid, who played her part well, though he hated the mindgame he'd been forced to have her play. He watched as she questioned each victim, and then stood silently as she picked up her bow and loosed three arrows in quick succession, each piercing through the hood that covered the face of a victim, sliding through an eye and breaking through the back of the skull, each arrow fletching deep at that range, the one for Fultheim even deeper, having exited nearly all the way out the back, and hanging grotesquely as he sat slumped forward. Astrid jumped off of the bookshelf she'd sat upon and congratulated Tali, handing her the key to the shack and walking out, giving Aendril an odd look as she did.

"I'm so sorry," Aendril tried to explain.

"Don't be, I knew what I was getting into when I sought out Aventus."

"I should've-"

"Told me? No, that wouldn't have been wise, the Brotherhood is illegal."

"But now you won't-"

"I won't what? What are you afraid of?" "I almost left the Brotherhood behind and met back up with you in Solitude."

"Why?"

"I don't know if you actually realize what you mean to me, Tali."

"Maybe I don't," she said as she stepped toward him, both of their hoods down, her arrow hand bare save for the leather strip that covered the second knuckle on her index and ring fingers. She reached up with that hand and placed it on his cheek. "I know that I Love you, Aendril the Whirlwind, and that I would follow you anywhere, even though you'll out live me by centuries."

"And I love you, Tali Lightfoot, the Longshot, and I would follow you anywhere, even though I'll out live you by centuries." A small tear dropped from the corner of his eye, onto her hand, which cause the same to drop from her, and he pulled her close, kissing her deeply, and openly, holding her tight against him, afraid that he'd lose her if he let go. They stood like that for a long time, before heading outside into the bright, cool morning. They both mounted Shadowmere and rode back, in no hurry, her seated in front of him, with one arm wrapped around her waist, the other on Shadowmere's reins, though he knew the horse needed no direction to return to the sanctuary. They sat quiet, simply enjoying each other's warmth, through the long ride to the sanctuary. Once they approached the sanctuary, she stepped up to the door first, needing to answer the question to enter.

"What is the music of life?" Came the raspy voice of the souls in the Void.

"Silence, my brother," Tali said solemnly.

"Welcome home," was the doors slow, pained response as it swung open, her handprint upon it glowing red as Aendril entered with her. Astrid greeted them, sans mask this time, and gave Tali a set of Shrouded armor, freshly commisioned from the Void. Tali headed out of the room into a side chamber and changed into the armor, which fit like a second skin, hugging every curve but not restricting her movement. She emerged and Aendril's eyes went wide at the sight. Astrid was certainly no longer the young beauty of the Sanctuary. Her shape shown through beautifully, and in a way that her musculature and strength couldn't be denied. Her predatory air seemed even more prominent in the outfit, which stirred things in him more deeply than she had already. They descended into the main chamber, where everyone, with the exception of Cicero, had gathered to greet the newcomer. All eyes were on them as Aendril led her down the steps, her cheeks red from the embarassment until he pulled her close at his side and introduced her. The group greeted her warmly, even Festus, who put on an air of distaste even to those he liked and respected. By the time introductions were over, and because of the long ride they'd taken, night had fallen, and they retired to Aendril's chamber, which was plenty large enough for both of them, and had a decently large bed. They stripped and crawled under the covers, electing to sleep bare, primarily because she had none of her actual gear.

They talked as per usual, talking of their plans for the future instead of past adventures, tightly entwined in each other's embrace, foreheads together, noses mere hairs apart. Once they finished they're conversation and he figured they were about to sleep he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, her head upon his chest. He quickly learned that she had too much energy to sleep, however, when she climbed atop him and pressed her lips to his, letting out a soft sigh as she rocked her hips against his. He wasn't sure how long it'd been for her, but it had been over a century since he'd been with anyone like this physically, which didn't compare tot he emotional aspect, which had been half a millenia. An unknown amount of time passed, but all he cared about was the closeness of them, her skin and his, her lips, her taste, their_oneness._ After they were spent, completely out of energy, they lay together, holding each other close, exchanging occasional kisses and sweet nothings as they drifted into unconsciousness.


End file.
